


Armor

by electricblueninja



Series: Love is a verb [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: Dean's ready to experience some things differently.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Love is a verb [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071395
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Armor

"Mm."

I'm just trying to coax him into the kiss, if I'm honest, but I'm hoping that Cas will mistake it for a sound of agreement. 

I know he's trying to be restrained--trying to put me first--but I can feel his resolve starting to crumble. Which is good, because if he really wants to put me first, he's going to need to put that whole angelic thing to the side for a damn second. Or an hour. Or the night. 

I want him. I want him bad. And I want him now.

Maybe it's the whisky. Liquid courage. But it's also just...the way he lets me rest against him. The way he's _always_ just let me rest against him. 

He admitted a while back that he's been in love with me for years now. Years. But all those years, he just let me rest on his shoulder. Never questioned it; never called me out; never woke me up; never asked me why. A couple of times I even half-faked it, just to see what he'd do--and the answer is that he'd just sit there till I stirred.

There's things I want to say to him. Things like _Put yourself first, dammit_ and _Do me so hard I forget my own name_ and _I love you_. But he's too respectful for the middle one. He gets weird about dirty talk if he's not already in the, uh, zone. And the other two just aren't enough to show him how much I care, or what he means to me. They'd feel hollow. Words are too limited to express what we have. We talk better with our bodies.

That's why I'm pretty sure I'll be able to break through his reluctance. He's trying to be good, but I can feel him starting to give in. He's starting to kiss back; parting his lips a little wider; his hands gripping my waist a little tighter. And, most telling of all, he's shifting under me, sinking into the couch to try to hide the way his cock is hardening against my leg.

I take his face in my hands and draw back from the kiss, holding him in place as he tries to follow. When I pull away, his eyes flutter open, full of confusion and dissatisfaction.

Oh, he'll crack alright.

"Yeah, Cas, sure I'm tired. But I'm also..." 

I still can't quite say it. Not to him. But there's always show-not-tell. I take his hand and place it over my crotch. "...You know."

He licks his lips nervously, flushing in the dim light. 

I push on. "I need...I need a little help here, Cas. I can't be doing any kind of resting unless I resolve this...situation."

Cas' eyes have opened wide. He has that thing going where he's kind of trying to avoid my gaze, but at the same time he can't look away, so he's just getting more and more flustered. To be fair, I guess I don't usually come on so strong. And he's got that thing about putting me first. About giving. About doing things _for_ me. 

Well, I'm asking for _this_ , and if he doesn't cooperate I might end up begging.

It's not like I _want_ to want him the way I do. I didn't choose this. It's his fault, not mine. 

Bastard.

I don't know if it's the way he smells, or the way that his body feels, or the warmth of his skin, or the whole damn lot of it, but something about him leaves me feeling too warm, and trembly in my core.

Ever since we started sleeping together, I think a lot about being close to him. About how it feels to touch each other. His teeth on my skin. The sense of barely-restrained power bubbling just below the surface of his self-control. Remembering what it felt like whenever we most recently had sex. Wondering what we'll do the next time. About whether it'll be his hands, or his mouth. And sometimes, unintentionally and accidentally, starting to imagine what it would feel like to have him inside me. Like, _in_ me.

That's something we haven't actually done yet. Almost everything else, but not _that_. And it's not the first time I've thought about it, but I've never felt ready.

Tonight, though...forget about butterflies. Tonight it's fireflies. Actually, just fire. Like there's flames licking up the insides of my stomach. 

Try anything once, right?

"Cas, listen." I undo my belt buckle, then his. "Listen, I want to try...I..."

A careful hand covers mine, the other hand drawing my eyes back up to his face. We share a long silence while he gazes at me, searchingly. It actually goes on for over three minutes. I know, because I start counting the seconds, because I'm trying to keep my heart down in my chest, where it's supposed to be, instead of up in my throat, where it's trying to go.

Eventually, Cas seems satisfied that he understands what I'm not saying.

He smiles softly, and gives me a look so tender that I struggle to keep breathing.

"Whatever you need from me, Dean, is yours. You know that."

I can feel myself reddening, and I don't like it. "Screw you, Cas."

In the space of a breath, he changes modes. Suddenly, he's smiling at me in a way that is decidedly not angelic. Sometimes he goes from servant to master so fast I get whiplash.

He leans forward, his lips brushing the rim of my ear. "Are you sure?" he murmurs, hand cupping the opposite side of my jaw, so I can't pull away. "I could have sworn you were trying to ask, without asking, for precisely the opposite."

He draws back, and his hands both drift to the hem of my tshirt. He slides his fingers under the fabric, watching me closely.

I can't talk. My bravado tank is empty right now. I just reach for his collar and start unbuttoning his shirt, concentrating closely on each new inch of skin that I reveal.

When I get back down to his belt, I stop and wriggle off his lap to stand in front of him. 

He stares at me, lips curled into a knowing smile, as he pulls his arms free of his shirtsleeves and drops it into a crumpled heap on the floor. Then he stands, so that we're nose-to-nose, hardly a breath between us, to unbutton his pants and strip naked, before resuming his position on the couch, his arms spread across the back of it as he gives me a commanding look.

My turn.


End file.
